


If they only knew

by cielecarlate



Category: Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: M/M, THE MYSTERIOUS TABLE ROOM, mark & wardo are only sort of there...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cielecarlate/pseuds/cielecarlate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(In an interview with Empire)</p>
<p>Jesse: Yeah, Andrew remembers this time that we um, we had a very long conversation, you remember, and it was like, in char—and it was so much fun…to do…</p>
<p>Andrew: Which one?</p>
<p>Jesse: Remember in the room—remember in the room with the table?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If they only knew

_Interviewer: So I take it you get pretty immersed in your characters, I mean, you guys are going over the review points, you’re crying in some of the scenes…is it important to you to feel that connection with the character you’re playing, or do you often get that involved with them?_

_Jesse: Um, yeah that’s, my favourite thing to do is like…to improvise in character as rehearsal. Andrew and I—remember we did that fun thing and, we—we—remember that, do you remember?_

...  
  
He’s sitting on the steps, counting the occasional black flecks lurking among the grey on the tiles. _Twenty-five…twenty-six…twenty-seven…_ What is taking Andrew so long?

Mark’s shorts are thin and not suitable for sitting on cool, hard surfaces for prolonged periods of time. Jesse finally decides to get up and find out where Andrew has gotten to when he hears unmistakable quick, irregular footsteps coming his way. 

_Andrew_. His mouth automatically quirks up

“Hey I found one!” Andrew yells, coming to a halt in front of where Jesse is standing on the steps, Mark’s backpack slung over his shoulder. For once, Andrew is shorter than him, and Jesse feels a childish sense of smugness

— Which disappears the moment Andrew grabs his hand in that casual way of his and literally pulls him down before setting off for their destination. Jesse tries to keep up, but really, how is he supposed to compete with the legs of a giraffe? He lets Andrew half-drag him, his flip-flops sliding neatly along the waxed floor.

Suddenly, Andrew stops outside a nondescript door, just one of many nondescript doors in the nondescript corridor of the building they’re shooting in. ”Are you ready?” he asks dramatically, hand poised on the door handle.

Jesse fights the urge to roll his eyes. ”What, is there a gentleman’s club inside?”

“Better.” He opens the door. ”Ta-dah! What do you think?”  
Jesse blinks. ”It’s a table.”

Andrew’s exasperated sigh nudges the ends of Jesse’s curls. “Yes, it’s a table. The perfect table to get into character with! See, it could be Mark’s desk—,” he sits down and mimes typing, “—or the deposition table,” he adopts a sad puppy expression, “—or even the bar.” His voice hits a falsetto worthy of Justin. “Dating you is like dating a Stairmaster!”

Jesse bites his lip to keep from laughing too loudly. Only Andrew can get away with that kind of exuberant behaviour. “Okay, I think I get your point.”

“So?” Andrew bounces back up, unable to sit still. “What do you want to do?”

Jesse thinks for a moment. “Let’s talk,” he decides, already feeling himself slipping into Mark’s clipped sentences.

“Talk?” Andrew’s offended disbelief is so endearing, Jesse almost laughs. But Mark doesn’t laugh. “I scour the building for the perfect room and you just want to…oh.”

Jesse—Mark, smirks. 

“So,” Andrew says again, but this time it’s in Eduardo’s Portuguese-American accent, and Jesse feels a tingle along his spine. 

“So,” Mark says in response. 

A beat.

Eduardo walks toward him, hands shaking with frustration. “What the hell were you thinking, Mark? Letting Sean stay here and not even let me know? I’m paying for all of this, for Christ’s sake! I’m CFO!”

“Your argument would hold more weight if being CFO actually meant as much to you as you claim it does,” Mark shoots back, rapid-fire. He registers the shock in Eduardo’s eyes—what, did he think Mark didn’t know?

“You think—you think I don’t—Mark, what the fuck are you talking about?” Eduardo sputters out. 

“You’re not even trying.” Wait, no, this isn’t true. “No, what I mean is,” he interrupts Eduardo’s no-doubt vehement protest. “You’re not even listening.” He takes a step closer to Wardo. “You’re not feeling it, Wardo. Those ad execs in New York…they don’t belong here.”

“In a dilapidated house in Palo Alto?”

Mark shakes his head, not taking his eyes away from Eduardo’s, willing him to understand. “Here. The future.” He smiles crookedly. “thefacebook.”

And Mark thinks he can see tears in Eduardo’s eyes, and he feels something wake up inside him, but then Andrew says “fuck,” and he comes crashing back into Jesse.

It takes him a minute to get a grip on his bearings; _there’s the table, there’s Andrew, oh, I’m Jesse._

“Sorry,” Andrew says, oddly subdued. “But that—that was beautiful, Jess.” His eyes are still shining as he steps forward and holds Jesse’s shoulders tight. “God, you know…sometimes I wish Aaron hadn’t written such a brilliant screenplay so that we could add moments like that in.” He laughs. “I bet you’re going to say how blasphemous an ingrate I am.”

Jesse looks up at him thoughtfully. The warm pressure from Andrew’s hands is both familiar and reassuring, reminding him that he doesn’t need to hide behind his wit. “Actually, I was going to ask you what you would have done if we could put that scene in the movie. I gather that “fuck” was off-script, so to speak.”

“What would I have done…” Unconsciously, it seems, Andrew’s thumbs trace absent-minded circles into Jesse’s collarbones and Jesse is finding it a little hard to breathe with the feel of Andrew’s hands on him so close, almost dipping beneath the collar of his t-shirt. “I think…” The circles stop as Andrew looks at him, his features conflicted. “Jesse, I think…”

And then Andrew’s hands are cradling his head and his lips are pressed against Jesse’s and Jesse doesn’t even think, for once he just reacts and he kisses back eagerly and he feels Andrew’s sigh in his own mouth and it makes him shiver, just a little bit. The functioning part of Jesse’s brain remarks with satisfaction that Andrew’s lips taste every bit as good as they look.

Andrew pulls back after a while, breathing heavily, his eyes searching. His thumb strokes a line down Jesse’s cheek. “I-I’ve wanted to do that for so long, you have no fucking idea.” He pauses. Jesse realizes he’s waiting for him to say something.

Now that Andrew isn’t kissing him, Jesse’s brain starts up again and he realizes that he doesn’t know whether that was Andrew kissing Jesse in the room with the table or Wardo kissing Mark in the hallway in Palo Alto. He doesn’t know, but he can’t ask. Even if it’s Andrew, especially if it’s Andrew, he can’t bring himself to ask. So he plays it safe. “Actually, I do.”

The smile lights up Andrew’s entire face, and the way he looks at Jesse is filled to the brim with such passion and tenderness that Jesse knows it’s for him, not for Mark, because Mark and Eduardo have nothing on them, and this time he’s the one who parts Andrew’s lips, tentative, but sure, and everything is a blur of Andrew’s lips against his, and Andrew’s hands in his hair and Andrew’s nose nudging his own as they kiss and kiss and _kiss_ and there could have been a million people watching and Jesse wouldn’t have noticed or cared. 

They’re stumbling in all directions, and Andrew’s got Jesse’s hoodie off, though his own Armani shirt is a lot harder to tackle. Jesse feels a bit lightheaded, his fingers are fumbling with the buttons, so contrary to Mark’s alacrity on the keys, and Andrew’s nibbling on his neck, making it even harder to concentrate, but he somehow manages to free the last button and he pushes the shirt away, hands sliding across Andrew’s chest. Andrew pressed his forehead against Jesse’s, both of them still for a moment.

“What are you thinking?” Andrew whispers, his breath hot on Jesse’s skin, his hands creeping up beneath his thin t-shirt. Jesse can feel Andrew’s erection against his own through the layers of cotton and cargo and they’re both so _hard—_

“I can’t,” Jesse gasps, his hands flying to his head. Andrew’s fingers still, but he doesn’t back away. 

“Really? Because the tent in your pants is telling me otherwise.”

“No no no no no, I mean, you asked me what I was thinking, and I can’t. I literally, I can’t think right now, Andrew, and it’s all—it’s all your fault,” he says, finishing off a little petulantly. He fights the instinct to cross his arms.

Andrew responds with a laugh and promptly returns his attention to Jesse’s neck, which doesn’t exactly help Jesse’s thinking capabilities. “I’m serious,” he protests weakly as Andrew starts lifting his shirt up, hands brushing Jesse’s sides. “You never take me seriously—ow!”

“Oh, I do,” Andrew says softly, his mouth moving wetly around the blossoming bruise. “The question is, love, do you take me seriously? Because if you don’t, then we might have a bit of a problem.” His mouth moves upward, along Jesse’s jaw, and Jesse can’t do anything but pant rather pathetically.

“I—I do,” he forces out, as Andrew’s tongue flicks at his pulse point, just below his ear. “Y—you know I take you very seriously, A—Andrew.”

“Good,” Andrew whispers conversationally into his ear. “Because I’d seriously appreciate it if you _stopped trying to think.”_

Jesse’s brain must have made a pact with his dick, because it only takes him half a second to understand what Andrew is saying. “Oh,” is what he manages to choke out. 

But apparently that’s all the answer Andrew needs because the next thing Jesse knows, Andrew has discarded him of his shirt and is kissing him again, his tongue drawing patterns on the roof of his mouth. Jesse can’t help it—his knees buckle slightly beneath him and he feels a cool edge against his back—it’s the table. 

And now Andrew is pressing him down onto the lacquered wood, and both of them have their hands between them, wrestling with zippers and buttons and Jesse thinks with annoyance, how did Brenda get them off so quickly in the bathroom scene? And maybe take after take of all those coding scenes have paid off, because sooner than he thought possible, Andrew’s pants are off and Jesse can feel the straining of Andrew’s boxers against his palm. He slides his hand down, light as a feather, and Andrew shudders and groans into his mouth, but Jesse pauses, uncertain. 

He doesn’t really know how this is supposed to go. And he doesn’t want to fuck this up, not—not with Andrew.

  
Jesse thinks that by now, Andrew should be utterly fed up with all of his untimely panic and is just one more hesitant pause away from leaving Jesse alone on the table like a piece of fruitcake at a holiday potluck. Andrew probably looked at Jesse and assumed he was as confident and proficient as he is in movies, but those scenes were with girls, and his every move was directed; he hadn’t felt about any of them the way he feels about Andrew—with Andrew, and he wasn’t even Jesse as he kissed and tugged and caressed. Jesse feels pretty fucking clueless and embarrassed right now.

But somehow, _somehow_ , Andrew doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t take any notice of Jesse’s paralysis, or maybe he takes extra, because he kisses Jesse long and soft and slow, until Jesse feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin, and his eyes fly open because he can’t take it anymore. 

Andrew’s looking down at him, and the look on his face makes Jesse want to cry. Because neither of them really know what they’re doing, and both of them are scared shitless of what this could mean, but it doesn’t matter. 

Jesse doesn’t know when he started loving Andrew, the moment lost somewhere amongst the takes and self-guided excursions and quiet evenings in the apartment, but he knows without a doubt that he does. He’s never been surer of anything in his life. Except maybe that Andrew loves him too.

So it doesn’t matter that Jesse bites down a little too hard on Andrew’s lip or that he flushes bright red when Andrew removes his boxers. It doesn’t matter that he’s pale and skinny and awkward. It doesn’t matter that neither of them have jerked off anyone other than themselves before, or that Jesse makes a decidedly undignified noise when he comes all over Andrew’s hand. 

  


It doesn’t matter, because Andrew thinks he’s adorable when he’s flustered. 

It doesn’t matter, because Andrew explores him with his eyes and mouth and hands like he’s the most intoxicating literary masterpiece in the whole fucking world. 

It doesn’t matter, because Andrew’s hand, like the rest of Andrew, knows Jesse better than anyone else.

It doesn’t matter, because Andrew makes an even more undignified noise a second later, and their cries mix together to create the most beautiful harmony Jesse has ever heard, with the hammering of their hearts keeping time.

  
Jesse closes his eyes, savouring the feel of Andrew’s body pressed against his, skin on sticky skin. When he looks up, Andrew is smiling at him. Jesse feels himself smile in response, automatic. Andrew’s foot brushes his. It tickles.

“Okay Wardo, I won’t dilute your shares,” Jesse says finally. 

Andrew laughs, burying his head into Jesse’s neck. “You’re awful.”

“And you’re surprisingly heavy.”

“It’s the hair,” Andrew whispers. “Shhh.” 

They collapse into quiet giggles.

  
It’s only some time later, after more tipsy laughter and lazy kisses that Jesse remembers that they are lying naked on a table, in a building where people are making a movie. In this state, the only movie they could star in is a porno. Jesse groans.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Andrew says immediately. “Don’t say it.”

“We should get back out there.”

Andrew shakes his head sadly. “I knew you would say it.” He sighs. “Alright. Back to work. We should do this again, though.”

“What, have sex in random rooms on set?”

“Actually, I was talking about the improvising and getting into character thing.”

“Asshole.”

“Maybe next time. But not on a table.”

“Yeah, I’m going to have bruises that I’ll never see.”

“I’ll kiss them better, don’t worry.”

Ignorant of cliché, Jesse’s heart flutters in his chest. “You are ridiculous,” he admonishes, failing to keep the affection out of his voice. 

“Since when is it considered ridiculous to want to kiss Jesse Eisenberg?” Andrew stands in front of him, his hand tilting Jesse’s chin up gently to kiss him. It’s soft and hot and just as Jesse drags his tongue across Andrew’s bottom lip, Andrew pulls away. 

Jesse can’t help but let out a tiny sound of complaint. Andrew grins at him, all crinkly-eyed. “I did warn you not to say it,” he reminds him. 

“So you did,” Jesse acknowledges ruefully. Never has he been so reluctant to get back to work.

  
Andrew sticks his head out the door, looking more like a giraffe than ever. “Coast is clear,” he whispers back at Jesse.

“Got it, double-oh-twenty-seven.” They walk out into the corridor, trying to act like they’ve just been rehearsing and definitely not fucking on a fucking table, even though there’s nobody else around.

Andrew laughs suddenly. “Can you imagine,” he chokes, “If some interviewer asks us how we got into character? And we—”

Jesse smirks. “I really hope they do.”

...

  
_Jesse: Yeah, Andrew remembers this time that we um, we had a very long conversation, you remember, and it was like, in char—and it was so much fun…to do…_

_Andrew: Which one?_

_Jesse: Remember in the room—remember in the room with the table?_

**Author's Note:**

> Because, I mean really, we _know_ something happened in that room with the table.


End file.
